The Children of the Elf Lords
by ErraticPerfectionist
Summary: More Elves. More Children. More Trouble. Isn't that what makes a good story?
1. The Elven Children

Disclaimer: Everything that is obviously Tolkien's isn't mine. I'm just borrowing it temporarily to write a story. The rest is my creation.

Author's Note: I just thought this up one day and thought it'd be sweet to write it down and let people read it. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

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  A single cry pierced the serenity of the late night. That one cry soon became three. As the child's cry woke his sisters and they too cried out.

  "Is everything alright?" Arwen stuck her head in the door of her parents' bedroom.

  "Could you mind Celebriel until she is calmed?" Elrond asked, soothing the baby in his arms. "Celedor felt that he was hungry now, and his sisters aren't too happy about being woken from the Paths of Dreams." He gestured to Celebrían already nursing one of the triplets.

  Arwen smiled and picked up her baby sister, the one who was usually the quietest of the three.

  Anórwen, the baby Elrond spoke gently to in Elvish, simply refused to stop crying that night. "I will be back soon," Elrond informed his wife and daughter Arwen as they dealt with the other two triplets.

  The hallways and corridors or Rivendell were filled with the soft music of singing Elves as he made his way along. The triplets were barely a month old, but already it was clear that the three babies might have some similarities, but they would be different. Anórwen was the most obvious in difference, with her golden down on her head. Celedor and Celebriel both had straight silvery hair, but while Celedor's eyes were gray, Celebriel had blue. Anórwen had blue-grey eyes, like a day when the blue sky is revealed through dark stormy clouds.

  Neither had the same wavy dark hair that his first three children did. Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen were much similar in their prominent features.

  Generally, the triplets didn't like each other being more than a room or so apart unless in the arms of one of their parents, although this wasn't uncommon as Elrohir and Elladan had been the same while they were still young. 

  Anórwen fell quiet, but Elrond did not change his path- it felt important for some reason that he continue with his original intention. As though he should have done so long before then.  

  Moving on, revelling in the peace and tranquillity of the haven of learning he had founded, Elrond found himself thinking of the events concerning his children.

  Elladan and Elrohir were several hundred years old and quite capable, in every sense of the word. They had progressed far and time would see them grow further in many ways.

  Arwen had been a polite, quiet and patient child and had grown as beautiful as her ancestor, Lúthien Tinúviel. After the birth of Arwen, Elrond had not thought that Celebrían would conceive again. There had been no actual reason for her not to, but three children seemed enough to content both their hearts.

  But Celebrían had. That day not so long ago, the triplets had been born; another son and two more daughters.

  At last, he came to the place he had set out for. There in the garden standing beneath the pale light of the moon and the bright stars, Elrond peered his tiny fair-haired daughter; the only one of his children to possess such a feature.

  Anórwen had her eyes closed, falling asleep, which was a habit among new babes of the fair Elven race as their young minds yet began to explore the dream realm.

  Carefully laying her on the ground, Elrond removed his outer robes and shirt, before taking the child into his arms. "Awake, my daughter," he whispered in the ancient Elvish tongue.

  Anórwen opened her eyes at once. She whimpered as her father removed her blankets, leaving nothing between her and the cool night air.

  The stars and trees watched as Elrond held the naked baby to his bare torso and carefully entered the dark waters of the pool from whence the sound of water falling came to lend serenity to the beautiful gardens.

  Elrond's daughter cried out as she felt the cool waters envelop her.

  "Shh," Elrond soothed. "You have nothing to fear, my little one."

  The child stopped her cries, but he could feel her anxiety and see it as she looked at the dark waters around her.

  During the day, this lake bore crystal clear waters, but the reflection of the night sky made it impossible to tell if the depth ever ended.

  Elrond bathed his daughter gently, noting that her tiny hands and fingers clung to him with a desperate grip. "The water may never harm you, nor shall anything harm you while I live and you are with me," he promised, kissing her brow.

  As the night progressed Anórwen visibly relaxed. As Elrond played with her under the starlight in the water, she giggled and her anxiety was replaced with an intense trust in her father; something she would never forget the eternity of her life.

  Elrond held his daughter up to the Evening Star that was set upon the brow of his own father and called out softly, "This is my daughter Anórwen! Let your light guide her always!"

  But slowly, like a dream, the night wore away and the sky turned first pale yellow then pink, lilac and finally blue as the sun rose above the mountains surrounding Imladris.

  At last Elrond emerged from the lake, his baby daughter cuddling close his naked torso as the water dripped off his breeches and onto the ground.

  Anórwen did not yet speak any coherent tongue, but trust blazed from her blue-grey eyes.

  Elrond stroked the soft golden down of his new daughter. It enchanted him somehow. Her hair crowned her head in ringlets, as Arwen's once had, but it would grow and would one day fall down her back like a wavy cascade of fiery gold, like a waterfall in direct sunlight. She was special indeed, as all his children were, but in a very different way her siblings. There was something about her that spoke of a depth that had yet to be revealed.

  "Mother was wondering where you got to," a familiar voice remarked. It was Elrohir. He stood beneath the tree where Elrond had let Anórwen's blankets fall. Picking them up and shaking them to free them of any dirt, Elrohir held the open blankets out.

  "Anórwen and I were just beginning the long path to understanding one another," Elrond replied with a brief smile, handing the baby girl to her elder brother.

  "Anórwen," Elrohir stated, holding up his sister to the morning sunlight. "How I love thee, little one. Though I suppose I shouldn't favour any of my siblings above any of the others." Gently, he kissed her on the cheek.

  Elrond slipped back into his shirt and robes. He took Anórwen back into his arms. "I don't think our girl is going to go back to sleep while her siblings are awake. So we'd better take her in for breakfast."

  Celebriel, Celedor and Anórwen grew up almost inseparably. For many of the first years of their lives, they shared a single room amongst them, and though there was a bed for each more often than not they all ended up in one.

  Their mother, Celebrían taught them all to read and write Eldarin and Westron. Arwen was their teacher of history, both Elvish and otherwise. For those years, Elrond watched from a distance, as the three of them tried to please him with their learning, which had been at his suggestion.

  They were eight years old when Elrond began the slow process of their separation. That is not to say he would tear them apart completely, but rather direct them in the things that would suit that triplet best, and make it so that they could survive if lost from the others.

  Celebrían took Celebriel under her wing, teaching her much more of the trees than the other triplets knew. At that time, Elrond was busy dealing with a band of orcs beyond the Ford who seemed set to stay. Therefore it was Elladan and Elrohir who teamed up with Anórwen and Celedor to begin their instruction in horse riding, archery and sword fighting.

  Sometimes Celebriel and Anórwen switched, so they both got a taste of what the other was doing, but Celedor seemed fixed on learning the arts of a warrior.

  When his sisters were occupied, Celedor privately admitted to his elder brothers that it was that if a dire situation were ever to arise, he wanted to be able to protect his triplet siblings. They smiled knowingly; in the times before the triplets, the twins had often kept watch over Arwen, feeling that it was their duty to make sure their eldest sister was alright. Now, Elladan had taken that responsibility, and Elrohir kept an eye on the younger sisters.

  "Thranduil has his own children about the triplets' age- my own daughter is friends with them," Glorfindel advised Elrond as they occupied the Hall of Flame one night. "The opportunity would be well worth it; children from different parts meeting and forming friendships. By your leave, I will suggest it to Thranduil himself. No doubt he would understand the importance of such a gesture."

  Elrond mulled it over. At last he looked down at the triplets waiting with bated breath. "And your opinion on the matter?"

  "Please?!" Celedor fidgeted in his seat with excitement.

  "I would like to know more of the wood-elves, and who better to learn it from but them?" Celebriel replied serenely. If someone were to look at the spirits of the three daughters of Elrond, Celebriel would be the quiet, serene child; Arwen the obedient child with a fire within; and Anórwen was the child of deep thought and unknown qualities even deeper within. It did not always show in their outward demeanour, but this is what Elrond himself saw.

  Elrond raised an eyebrow. "Anórwen?"

  "I can't see anything wrong with the idea," she answered. "There'd be more children to play with- and they're bound to know things we don't."

  "It's settled then," Glorfindel beamed. "Ophianna too will feel much comforted that she is not entering a strange territory alone."

  Ophianna was Glorfindel's daughter, two years younger than the triplets. Glorfindel had taken a silver-haired Sindar elf of Mirkwood for his wife, and knowing from when he frequented Mirkwood, Ophianna took after her mother.

  "Arwen, will you read to us tonight?" Celebriel asked. 

  Anórwen yawned then ducked her head sheepishly. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

  "If you yawn again, I will personally carry you to your room," Elrohir stated good-humouredly.

  Anórwen was unable to hold back another yawn. Giggling, she raced from the hall before Elrohir could rise from his seat in time to catch her.

  "I think that is signal enough that we too should depart," Elrond declared.

  "Just a bit longer, Father?" Celedor pleaded.

  "Until Arwen and I return from choosing the next book," Celebriel agreed.

  Elrond nodded. "As you wish. I think I will chase up Anórwen- I can never be entirely sure if she has done what I expect her to."

  Anórwen had though. Elrond knew this as he opened the door to the triplets' bedroom and walked on silent Elven feet to her bed, where she lay, still in her clothes, asleep with her eyes closed.

  Elrond didn't know whether to smile or to frown. She looked so peaceful sleeping like that, but at the same time it disturbed him that she needed to close her eyes as she rested, her mind walking the paths of dreams. She didn't always do it, but it was a habit she had. A human habit.

  Quietly, he sat on her bed and stroked her wavy golden locks. She woke, turning over to look at him.

  "Shh, it is only me," Elrond whispered. "If you are weary, rest. It was not my intention to wake you."

  "I have such strange dreams when I sleep thus," Anórwen sighed tiredly, turning back. "And I do not always remember those dreams. But this time- it seemed as though something waited beyond Rivendell for us. Beyond the Ford. I could not see, for there was always darkness."

  "You are only thinking about the orcs," Elrond commented gently. "Have no fear, they are gone now."

  Anórwen nodded half-heartedly as she closed her eyes again.

  Elrond stayed there a small while, before heading for the door.

  "I love you, Papa," Anórwen said softly. "I will always trust you."

  Elrond paused. "And I you, Anórwen."

  As he left the room, Arwen, Celebriel and Celedor passed him, wondering what had been said.

  A group from Mirkwood arrived barely months after the idea was first suggested by Glorfindel.

  Anórwen stumbled out from the bushy garden into the paved courtyard where Elrond traditionally greeted visitors- as he was at that moment.

  She stopped, trying not to smile or laugh.

  The bushes rustled again and Celebriel emerged tripping over her sister.

  Elrond sighed as Celedor appeared from the same direction, glancing over his shoulder before landing on top of his sisters.

  The triplets scrambled to their feet and stood there, looking at the newcomers and trying not to grin or giggle as they caught their father's eye.

  "Where did they get to now?" a voice that was Elladan's could be heard from behind.

  "Through there," Elrohir replied, and though there was no sound made, it was clear they were coming. Anórwen dodged the Mirkwood Elves on their horses before disappearing in the garden opposite. Celebriel ducked behind their mother and Celedor ran for the Road as Elladan and Elrohir appeared.

  Elladan's shoulders dropped in exasperation. "That's one caught- but is anyone going to hint where the other two went?"

  "Celedor went that way," Elrond pointed. "And Anórwen ran through here."

  Elladan headed after Celedor leaving Elrohir to deal with their other sister. Standing before the garden, Elrohir called, "Anórwen! Please- enough!"

  After a moment's silence he added, "If you make me come and get you, I will not allow you to touch a bow or sword for a month!"

  He waited patiently, the Mirkwood Elves watching in amusement..

  Suddenly Anórwen came leaping out, into her brother's waiting arms.

  "You wouldn't really do that to me would you?" she asked, pouting like the child she was. "You would leave your little sister defenceless?"

  "I would leave her weaponless, not defenceless," Elladan remarked, walking up. Celedor's legs were seen from where Elladan held them, Celedor swinging upside down behind his brother's back.

  "Father- make him put me down," Celedor begged.

  Elladan helped his younger brother to his feet without their father's order. "Don't go running off next time- if you'd listened instead of making us chase you, you would have met the party from Mirkwood in a much more dignified matter."

  "What would the point of that be?" Anórwen quipped. "And make them think we're good little Elves?"

  Elrond tapped Anórwen's nose, where she still clung to Elrohir.

  "My dear friend, these are the triplets- Celedor, Celebriel and Anórwen." Elrond introduced.

  "Three for three," Thranduil remarked. "My eldest son Legolas is the same age as your youngest children. Lorolas, my only daughter is about two years younger- Ophianna's age- and my youngest child born so far is Rínaborn."

  "Your wife is expecting another?" Elrond enquired politely.

  "She is. That is why she did not come with us. I was loathe to leave her, but she advised me to bring my children." Thranduil nodded.

  Glorfindel stepped forth, his hands on the shoulders of his silver-haired daughter. "This is Ophianna. When the Sindar go back to Mirkwood she will stay here. As will my wife Lorëa."

  When all greetings and introductions were concluded, there was silence as the children eyed one another curiously.

  "I would say it is time for the midday meal." Elrond clasped his hands. "Come!"

  The younger children were sat down one end of the great table, and after a few shy requests for this plate or that, they found their voices and chatted animatedly.

  "Can you pass the potatoes, Legolas?" Anórwen asked.

  "Why don't you wear dresses like your sisters?" Legolas replied in kind, handing her the plate.

  "I don't like them- skirts get in the way when you're trying to run and do other things. I used to trip over them too much when I was much younger, and I haven't worn them since." Anórwen shrugged, passing the plate to Celebriel who was chatting with Rínaborn about the trees in Mirkwood.

  "Do you know archery?" Ophianna- or Ophia as she preferred- questioned, popping a chuck of roast meat into her mouth.

  "Swordfighting's better," Lorolas intervened.

  "We've been learning both," Celedor replied with his mouth full of half-chewed food. "Celebriel doesn't know as much, but Anórwen's pretty good at it."

  "Father promised me my own bow one day, for when I'm older." Legolas stated proudly.

  "I can't wait to be old enough for him to let us join the Spider Hunts," Lorolas agreed.

  "Spider Hunts?" Celebriel interrupted, wrinkling her nose. "Are they really as big as we've been told?"

  "Probably bigger," Rínaborn piped up.

  "Enough talking!" Celebrían exclaimed kindly. "You must eat!"

  And that ended the conversation for another few minutes, while the children wolfed down their food.

  "Should we go and get them, do you think?" Celedor whispered in the quiet of the triplets' shared room.

  "The parents will be wild if they find out," Anórwen pointed out quietly.

  "I think they would like the company; sleeping all alone in their rooms," Celebriel said softly. "But do we know where they are?"

  "Not far from here- the more important task is getting around without alerting anyone to what's happening," Anórwen replied. "The three of us can't go together- we'd be spotted in a second!"

  "I'll do it- I know where they are, and I don't want you girls getting into trouble," Celedor volunteered.

  Anórwen snorted. "Our brave brother- getting into trouble for us! If that's you argument, then _I'm_ going."

  "You were just saying that we can't all go."

  "We wouldn't be- just you and me. Celebriel's staying behind."

  "If you two are going, then so am I." Celebriel argued.

  "That's it then- just me," Celedor decided for them and was out the door before they could disagree.

  "Master Elrond, Ophia's gone. King Thranduil's children are also missing from their beds," Lorëa rushed into the Hall of Flames.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Thranduil demanded.

  Elrond thought for a moment. "I suspect I know where they are. Come."

  He led the anxious parents to the triplets' room.

  Opening the door quietly, allowing the dim candlelight to fall upon Anórwen's bed. There lay all seven children, arms and legs weaved in and out with each other's. Their eyes were open, but their minds occupied the Paths of Dreams, as is the Elvish manner of sleeping.

  "We should have known," Glorfindel remarked softly.


	2. Trouble with Men

Author's Note: I'd like to thank Gerri, Anonymous, STACEY, Estriel Laureatinwe and JenJinn for their reviews. To C.P. I would like to dedicate this chapter- what you did was what fanfic author's live for; Thank you so very much (by the way- you were right; Something does happen to the triplets ^_^).

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  Elrond stood and looked out the window. When this did not stop the restless feeling, he began to pace the window length.

  "What is the matter, my friend?" Thranduil asking, sipping his wine.

  "I am not sure," Elrond admitted. "I have a terrible feeling that something is wrong."

  Thranduil paused, as though testing the air with some unseen sense. "You are right though I too cannot place what this feeling means."

  After a moment's thought, it hit Elrond clearly. "The children."

  Thranduil sat on the edge of his seat, alarmed.

  "Arwen?" Elrond turned sharply to his daughter.

  Arwen lowered her tapestry. "They asked if they could go riding this morning. I said no further than the Ford at most. I imagine they went for a swim…"

  Elrond and Thranduil exchanged glances.

  "Celedor was eager to explore the lands beyond the Ford," Elrond stated.

  "Legolas would have volunteered to show him," Thranduil added.

  "Celebriel and Anórwen would have followed their brother."

  "And Lorolas and Rínaborn theirs."

  "And Ophianna too." Glorfindel agreed, having listened quietly until then.

  Within a second, the three fathers were out the door and heading for the stables.

  "Father!" Arwen called, racing to catch up.

  "Find Elladan and Elrohir- explain what's happened and send them after us; but do **not** come with us! Elrond instructed firmly.

  Arwen nodded her acquiescence and dashed off in another direction.

  Their masked captos had obviously been well-trained in kidnapping- something particularly strange so close to Rivendell. Bandits simply did not come near the Elven estate.

  After leaving their horses on the Rivendell-side of the Ford and swimming across, Legolas had guided them up the Road.

  Anórwen found it rather embarrassing that an Elf from somewhere as far as Mirkwood knew the area better than they who lived so close!

  Eventually they came upon two masked men standing, waiting on the road. One thing had led to another, and the seven children had found themselves surrounded by more of these masked men.

  They were outnumbered seven to a double dozen, but the nine year-old Elves refused to go down without a fight.

  That foolish notion resulted in a series of injuries on both sides, but the Elven children were no closer to escaping.

  Celedor, Legolas and Rínaborn were the first to be bound hand and feet, then gagged while the girls were held at sword point.

  Anórwen watched disheartenedly as the blood trickled down Legolas' face from the cut on his forehead. The sleeve of Celedor's tunic was stained with his ruby Elven blood where his broken bone had emerged during that desperate fight.

  The captors then turned their attention to the girls. Only Celedriel was bound without resistance.

  Anórwen fought the bonds so strongly that one of the leaders held her nose, tipping her head back and poured a vile of foul-tasting liquid down her throat when she opened her mouth to breath, then gagged her.

  Not long after, they heard the sound of horses racing hard towards them. The sight of Elrond, Thranduil and Glorfindel created a sudden panic among the masked captors.

  The four leaders of the bandits picked up the struggling young female Elves and headed off into the surrounding woods at a fast pace.

  Anórwen heard Celedor's muffled cries of pain as he and the other boys were carried also.

  "Ditch the boys! Run!" the kidnapper holding Lorolas ordered. It was the first they had heard their captors speak whatsoever. "These four will be prize enough!"

  Anórwen squirmed in her captor's arms, trying to see over his shoulder.

  Elrond and Glorfindel still pursuedl Thranduil had been left behind to ten to the boys.

  At that moment, the kidnappers split up taking the four daughters I n different directions.

  Making a split-second decision, Glorfindel went after Ophianna and Elrond chased down Celebriel.

  _Hold on_, Elrond thought of Anórwen. _I promise they will not have you._

  After a while the only sound Anórwen could hear was the quiet breathing of the kidnapper as he ran soundlessly along, carrying his charge.

  "Papa!" Anórwen cried but the sound was muffled by the material stuffed in her mouth.

  The masked man never slowed, but continued in his silent run.

  She didn't know how long it was, but suddenly she was rolling on the ground after falling from her captor's arms.

  Elrohir. Already her elder brother was attacking the masked man, who had quickly recovered and had drawn his iron sword with a speed only matched by the Elven lords.

  It occurred to Anórwen that she should attempt to away as best she could what with her arms and legs bound, but something made her sluggish and she could only weakly struggle against her bonds as she lay helplessly.

  She gave up, praying to Eru that Elrohir would win; as it seemed the duel was evenly matched.

  This man clearly had a greater fighting experience than her brother, though it seemed impossible to Anórwen as her brother had been learning the skills since he was a child himself! That should have given Elrohir an advantage of several hundred years more practise, expertise and experience than this man no matter how old or strong.

  But as Elrohir yielded to the man's sword in his left shoulder, Anórwen was close to utter despair.

  The man hit her brother hard over the back of the head with his dagger hilt before turning back to her.

  "You, my pretty little Elfling…you're coming with me." He remarked, picking her up again. "And I won't make that mistake again."

  But he had reckoned without knowing the love of Elrond for his daughter, and the fury of the Master of Rivendell.


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